Thou art not here, thou art not there,
Thy place I cannot see;

I only know that where thou art
The blessed angels be,

And Heaven is glad for thee.

Forgive me if the evil years
Have left on me their sign;
Wash out, O soul so beautiful,
The many stains of mine
In tears of love divine!

Oh, turn to me that dearest face
Of all thy sea-born town,
The wedded roses of thy lips,

Thy loose hair rippling down
In waves of golden brown!

Look forth once more through space and time,
And let thy sweet shade fall

In tenderest grace of soul and form
On memory's frescoed wall,

A shadow, and yet all!

Draw near, more near, forever dear!
Where'er I rest or roam,

Or in the crowded city streets
Or by the blown sea-foam,
The thought of thee is home.

ANDREW MARVEL AND HIS FRIENDS.

A STORY OF THE SIEGE OF HULL.

BY MARIE HALL, née SIBREE,

Author of "Sermons from the Studio," "The Sculptor of Bruges," &c.

CHAPTER XLV.-A ROYAL SUNDAY.

"THE Queen has been sick and is still indisposed," said Ralph to his wife one Sunday afternoon a few weeks after the reception; "she has been asking after you and says you neglect her, like many others. Will you not go this evening? She is often slighted, poor Queen, and I think once she counted you as amongst her friends."

"But it is Sunday, Ralph. Why would you have me go today?"

""Tis no harm to inquire after one who is sick, even on Sunday, and you will not go again to the meeting-place. Let me take you

to the palace for an hour. You shall stay no longer than it pleases

you."

Alice was persuaded, though against her will, and at eight o'clock was ushered into the Grand Gallery.

But what a scene presented itself. There had been no Sabbath in Whitehall for two or three years; the holy day of rest was as unnoticed as if it never dawned. There a group surrounded a table, playing at basset, while others looked on and betted on the issues of the game; there an adolescent youth was singing love songs, whose style would not be tolerated now in any decent society; and further up the gallery the King was toying with three of his favourite dames; a black page was kneeling before the loveliest of the trio, presenting a golden dish laden with the most tempting fruits. Lady Hildyard's entrance caused some surprise and perhaps a little embarrassment to a few minds; Charles raised his eyebrows and nodded familiarly.

"What! is my Puritan lady becoming worldly? Are all the conventicles closed? or has your ladyship come to read us a homily ? "

"I understood the Queen was indisposed, sire," replied Alice, looking round, for the Gentleman-in- Waiting had directed her to the gallery.

"Ah! so it is to see our Queen, and not ourself, that you come to-night?" cried Charles. "Our dear consort prefers her own apartment, with quieter company. We are too gay for her after

her recent sickness."

"Then with your Majesty's leave I will withdraw to the Queen's chamber," said Alice, glad to escape from such an uncongenial atmosphere.

"Listen to that, you jades," said Charles, when Alice was gone, turning to the beauties carelessly taking their ease around him; "Lady Hildyard never forgets that Charles Stuart is her King. When did any of you ask my Royal permission to come and go? You are saucy madams, all of you, and Nell here is the worst," and the King pinched Nellie's pretty ears.

"Will your Majesty graciously permit me to withdraw?" asked the actress, rising and making a deep obeisance with an air of mock humility.

"No, we command you to stay," replied Charles, laughing, "and leave such farces for the playhouse. When Fortune endowed thee, Nell, she forgot the virtues, and afterwards, to make up thy loss, she gave thee a double share of wit and boldness."

"That was quite out of consideration for your Majesty. She knew what qualities would suit you best," answered Nellie promptly, tapping the King with her fan.

When Alice entered her Royal mistress's presence she again felt surprised and embarrassed, for if not so sportive the company here were quite as worldly. The Queen, looking pale and dispirited, was playing at cards with the Duchess of York and two of her maids of honour, while the other ladies present conversed in low tones, some discussing the merits of a delicate fabric that an Indian servant was curiously embroidering, and some were pretending to tell the fortunes of three or four young gentlemen who had sauntered in from the gallery.

Catherine smiled a pleasant welcome upon her guest, and, throwing down her cards, bade Alice be seated on a vacant stool beside her. Being a Catholic, the Queen felt no compunction at ending the Sabbath as she would do any other day. She had attended mass early that morning most conscientiously, even against her physician's advice, and so felt she had satisfied all the claims that religion could have upon her. But the Duchess of York looked slightly uncomfortable. Old influences and impressions could not be shaken off easily, even while leading a most dissolute life. She was an English woman, and her youth had been passed in a home where morality was respected, and within sight of a Court where decorum, at least, was observed.

"Your Majesty is weary," said Alice, gently, as Catherine leaned back languidly in her chair.

"Weary, yes; here and here," she replied, touching her bosom and her head. "Sometimes I wish myself back amongst the nuns, but perhaps now I should not like to live such a quiet life. If y f you and Mistress Blagg had been Catholics, what good sisters you would have made; you are such religieuses-the best heretics I have seen. I am ever wishing that you belonged to the true Church and faith."

"That is just what we wish concerning your Majesty. We grieve to see you sad and desolate, and we know that our faith could make your Majesty happy, notwithstanding all that is vexing and painful in life. The Catholic faith does not comfort our dear mistress. There are hundreds of good Protestants to-day in English prisons who can sing for gladness of heart, with everything to make them sorrowful."

The Queen shook her head.

"They are mistaken, poor souls, for none can escape torment out of the true Church, though I find this hard to believe when I look at you, Lady Hildyard, and hear you talk. But you say might be happy. Would you be happy if you were Queen of England? Would I had never known the weight of a crown!" Tears rushed to Catherine's eyes as she spoke. None were listening, and she continued-"Your husband loves you, Lady

Hildyard; you do not know what it is to be a rejected wife, to try every means to win a little affection, to do the things you hate, in hope of being praised and smiled upon, and yet to fail, and see all that is yours lavished freely on the worst of your sex. Could your religion make you happy in such a case?"

"Not happy because of anything in this world, dearest madam," replied Alice, deeply moved, and longing to say something that might console the wretched Queen, "but comforted in thinking of the love of Jesus that never changes, and in the prospect of rest and peace in heaven. My husband's love alone would not content me; I should be restless and miserable unless I knew that Jesus was my friend and Saviour. Your Majesty must forgive my freedom, but your condescension encourages me to speak. Why should your Majesty go to a priest for pardon and relief when Jesus is so near, offering pardon for all sin, and when He invites us to bring all our burdens to Him and not to anyone else—not even to His apostles? He says, 'Come unto Me.' "

"Ah! but Jesus is in heaven now; I cannot see or hear Him. He sends His pardons now through His anointed ones. And I ought not to listen to you; not that I am vexed, Lady Hildyard, but it is a sin to hear a heretic talk about her faith."

"But, craving your Majesty's pardon, surely it can do no harm to a Catholic to talk about the Saviour and His love. He died to save your Majesty, and having done so much why should He not like to have you go straight to Himself and confess your sins?"

"Though a Queen I am not wise enough to judge for myself," replied Catherine, looking uneasy; and evidently wishing to put an end to the conversation she rose from her chair.

Alice also rose, saying, "Your Majesty is not displeased?

"No, no; why should I be? Alack, there are few who care whether I am glad or sorry; and I truly believe Lady Hildyard has kind thoughts for her Queen, and that without hopes of favour or advantage."

"Indeed, your Majesty has my dutiful affections and my prayers for your better health."

The Duchess of York approaching, Alice kissed the Queen's and her Highness's hands, and, saluting the others present, left the chamber. In the matted gallery she encountered Lord Rochester, who seemed to be taking a meditative walk there alone.

"I thought your lordship always shunned solitude," remarked Alice, as he came to her side; "but this is just the hour for liking one's own company best."

It was truly a lovely evening, and through the long row of windows the setting sun sent in a flood of crimson and gold. A hush seemed on the world without, that was only broken now and

then by the closing of a door, or the distant sound of voices and footsteps.

"Yes, the evening is fair," replied Rochester, as they stopped at one of the open casements to watch the rapidly changing tints of the sky; "but your ladyship's presence makes it still fairer. I never like my own company best. A good conscience and a store of pleasant memories are necessary for that, methinks, and I frankly confess I have neither."

"But happily both are attainable, Lord Rochester. The first may be washed whiter than snow, and you can begin from to-day to fill your life with deeds that will make memory a pleasant companion. All that is lacking is a willingness to be made pure, and a will to do what is right."

"Well, your ladyship's doctrine is simple enough, but the difficulty lies in just that want of will, and willingness, and power to believe. If I could be a child again, and begin afresh-but I am talking like a child now. You know nothing about such a heart as mine, Lady Hildyard. I can imagine what sweet thoughts will come and go in your mind as you sit alone in such a scene as this. Your innocent maiden life, with its bright hopes-even your sorrows would be holy things; for I suppose you have not been free from these always?"

A deep shadow passed over Alice's face, and without removing her gaze she replied softly, "Ah, no! Lord Rochester; I have had great and heavy sorrows. At one time they came in quick succession, like mountain waves; but I needed them all. not the worst thing in the world, by far."

Trouble is

"What is then?" asked Rochester, who had been listening attentively, and was in one of his rare quiet moods.

"Sin," replied Alice, solemnly; "we may extract much honey from our griefs, if rightly borne and understood; but sin yields only gall, sooner or later."

"It always seems to me that the cruellest sorrow a human heart can know is caused by disappointed love," he remarked-Alice's face reflected the crimson hue of the cloudlets" but of this your ladyship can know nothing, with such a faithful cavalier as Sir Ralph."

"I am indeed blessed above many," responded Alice; "but I think I car imagine a grief that surpasses disappointment, and that is to find the object of affection unworthy-to have a beautiful image changed to something that must be despised and dethroned; surely in that is the very bitterness of death. Yet worse, for love looks beyond death. Even disappointed love may take refuge here, but the other shuts out light and hope hereafter."